


The Good, the Bad and the Drabble

by estepheia



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estepheia/pseuds/estepheia
Summary: Buffyverse drabbles, mostly melancholy, mostly canon-compliant-ish
Relationships: Drusilla/Spike (BtVS)
Kudos: 7





	The Good, the Bad and the Drabble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mydeira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/gifts), [Sadbhyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/gifts), [monanotlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/gifts), [wickedfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedfox/gifts), [Hesadevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesadevil/gifts), [Spiralleds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiralleds/gifts), [tgray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgray/gifts).



> Gone - Ethan/Joyce - PG - spoilers for The Body - for mydeira, sadbhyl and wickedfox (Sorry, this is a sad one)  
> Breakable - AtS, Spike/Illyria - post-NFA - PG13 - for brandil  
> Convergence - AtS - Spike & Connor friendship - post-NFA - PG - for hesadevil  
> Working Girl - AtS - Harmony/Spike - PG  
> Object of Study - Riley & Ethan - PG13 - for ludditerobot  
> On a Dark Desert Highway - Giles & Oz - PG13 - for patintexas  
> Postcards - Oz, Mrs. Osborn - PG - pre-Chosen  
> Always - Drusilla/Spike - PG13  
> Cut - Xander, Buffy/Spike - PG13 - post-Gift  
> Anniversary - Giles & Spike - PG - post-Chosen - for Sueworld2003  
> Memento - Buffy/Spike - PG13 - post-Chosen  
> Warmth - Buffy & Willow & Xander & Giles & Dawn - post-NFA - G - for monanotlisa  
> (written between 2003 and 2012)

**Gone**

Some things you just know. For instance, Ethan knows that Ripper shagged the Slayer’s mum. Tut-tut.

The plan is hatched in a white cell. It’s nifty, mixing vengeance with pleasure, only when Ethan finally gets back to Sunnyhell, Rupert’s gone.

But a plan is a plan is a plan. Besides, Joyce is classy, with a naughty, rebellious streak tucked away underneath the mom-act that’s begging to be unleashed. Ethan can tell.

He plays Brian Normal who works for a publishing house; takes her out; sends her flowers.

Ends up putting a rose on her grave.

Some things you don’t know.

**Breakable**

He’s a sucker for chicks who could break him. Always has been. But Frosty Shiva doesn’t light his fire.

Maybe it’s ‘cause she stole Fred’s face. Or maybe ‘cause she wants nothing, not from him, not from anyone. All she does is warble on: 'bout her realm, Wes, her godly heydays…

Spike listens. Someone has to.

One day, after flicking through a Cosmopolitan, she tosses him on the bed and straddles him. “We shall try this.”

Her touch is warm, soft.

God, he’s such a sucker for the needy ones. He couldn’t throw her off, even if he wanted to. 

**Convergence**

The old sod likes to keep things compartmentalized. ‘Things Angelus Did’ goes into drawer #1, ‘Stuff Angel Screwed up’ goes into drawer #2. Nice and separate. Only life is never that tidy.

One night they’re fighting the same vampire gang.

When the dust settles, Spike squints at the floppy-haired kid. Boy’s a terrific fighter for one so young. “Seen you before, right? Back at Evil ‘R Us.” Spike snaps his fingers to conjure the name.

“Connor.”

“Right. So you and Angel…?”

“He’s my dad. You work for him, right?”

If Angel knew, he’d have a fit. Spike grins. “Buy you a drink?”

**Working Girl**

It's a dream come true: from steno pool girl number five to boss's secretary. Not quite dishwasher-to-millionaire caliber, but enough to make all the other steno girls - human, demon, or undead - Lorne-green with envy.

_Yay me!_

Harmony moves her painted unicorn to make room for the pencil (and nail file) holder, then nods. Perfect. If only Cordy could see her now.

She looks up in time to see her Blondie Bear stride past, his jaw clenched.

"Spike, wait. If you're bored or something, we could play Twenty Questions."

When Spike ignores her, as usual, she shrugs. Men. He'll come around.

**Object of Study**

Four days after processing the old sorcerer, Riley reports to the debriefing room. It's overcrowded: four guards, one pathologist, and Special Agent Ellis from HQ.

When the prisoner is led in, Riley realizes why the room is overheated.

"Why is he naked?" he blurts out.

"Questioning my methods, Finn?" Ellis grins. "These… magicians can use almost anything for their tricks, even build some whacky flying machine from a piece of wire and some thread."

The hood is removed. Rayne looks ashen, with blood-shot eyes. Sways. Signs of sleep deprivation. "But he's human," Riley ventures uneasily.

"That's what we're here to determine."

**On a Dark Desert Highway**

A blur in passing, the hitchhiker shrinks in Giles's rear-mirror. Giles never picks up hikers, on principle, especially not under a full moon that bathes the desert in rusty silver. He's bloody late already, after taking a wrong turn earlier. But something about that slender frame….

Just a feeling. The guitar case, the desert-red hair in the headlights.

Giles steps on the brakes and backs up his Hertz, spitting gravel. The passenger window whirs down, Nevada warmth spills inside.

A nod. "Giles."

"Oz? Good Lord, what are you doing in the middle of nowhere?"

"Thinking."

Smiling, Giles unlocks the door.

**Postcards**

The questioning always starts around Thanksgiving and lasts well into December. “Have you heard from Danny? Still in China, is he?” the neighbors ask. And: “Will he be home for Christmas this year?”

Pitying glances, when she answers that no, her son is not in Tibet anymore, and no, he’s not coming. Later, she’ll overhear them at the supermarket. Snatches of conversation like: “A shame. He had such good grades.” – “Tibet? Isn’t that where all that heroin comes from?”

She never shows them the postcards. “Learning to play the didgeridoo. Oz” the last one said.

At least he’s safe there.

**Always**

They lost everything in Prague: dolls, dresses, diaries. Postcards, scrapbooks of poetry, photo albums. Mementos of a hundred years. The jealous fire devoured them all.

It didn't matter then. Princess didn't need keepsakes, not with Spike by her side for all eternity, who brought her new gowns, still warm and fragrant, and new dollies to play with.

He's gone now, lost in so many ways. Incinerated by the fire in his heart.

Drusilla cuts the deck, flips the card, then works her spell. Lines shimmer, reform. Armor morphs into a black coat. Now he'll always be her Prince of Cups.

**Cut**

A vampire with photos stuck to his fridge - is there anything more pathetic?

The answer lies downstairs, sprawled on the four-poster bed, boots filthy, soiling the sheets with soggy grave dirt, eyes closed, mouth slack. Spike reeks of cheep booze, bottle neck lodged in a fist that refuses to unclench even in sleep.

A photograph is lying face down on his stomach.

Xander climbs down to pick it up. Buffy. Smiling happily, a striped shirt sleeve slung around her shoulders. The person next to her is cut away.

Something inside him hardens. Xander leaves, taking his bottle with him

**Anniversary**

“Spike!”

“Got a place to crash?”

He’s standing on Giles’s doormat, huddled under a blanket, emitting wisps of smoke into in a golden November sunrise.

Giles sighs. “Come in.”

Spike smells slightly singed, as he brushes past him.

“How d’you know my address?” Giles moves through the living room to draw the curtains.

Shrug.

“Are you dripping blood on my carpet?”

Another shrug. Spike studies the Thanksgiving cards that adorn the mantelpiece, while Giles eyes the Sainsbury’s carrier that appeared on his sofa.

“Booze,” Spike grins. “And a turkey.”

Giles arches an eyebrow.

“Remember 1999? The Chumash?”

Giles grins. “Vividly.”

**Memento**

"I don't even have a photograph of… my mom."

"What about your father? Surely he kept a few?"

"You're right." Buffy gives him a smile that's nine parts brick and mortar to hide behind and one part genuine warmth. "I'll ask him."

That's when Angel brings out his dented and battered strongbox and hands her the photo: Spike in a wheelchair, looking brassed off but unbroken, giving the photographer his two-fingered salute. Angelus took the picture. Angel kept it.

Buffy never asks what else Angel is keeping inside that box. She just takes the photo and carefully puts it away.

**Warmth**

It’s freezing outside, but the apartment is sweltering. Willow has been baking for hours; Cookies, gingerbread, the works, while Giles and Xander went out shopping. Now they’re trying to wrestle a huge Christmas tree through the door.

“Wait! Slayer job” Single-handedly, Buffy yanks it inside. Pine needles scatter. “See?”

No more mom-cookies, or guilty gift vouchers from Dad; no more stilted, heartbreaking Christmas cards from Angel or inexpertly wrapped gifts from Spike; no more Anya tales about child-eating Santas…

Will Christmas ever stop hurting?

“Buffy! Did you use my new lipstick?” Dawn yells.

With friends like these?

Getting there.


End file.
